A dangerous offer
1009 Words
The sky was getting dark when Noah arrived at Roy’s clinic the following evening, dressed in black, sunglasses still on, despite the fading light. His heart was racing, though he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the way Roy had looked at him during their last session or the silence in the room that spoke more than any words could.
He stepped inside, expecting to be greeted with the same quiet calm, but today felt off.
The receptionist looked up. “Mr. Vance?”
“Yes,” he said shortly, pulling off his sunglasses. “I’m here to see Roy.”
She hesitated, then gave a regretful smile. “Dr. Miller isn’t in today. He hasn’t shown up since this morning.”
Noah frowned. “Is he okay?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, eyes flicking away.
Noah thanked her and stepped back out, troubled. Roy didn’t seem like the type to cancel without warning. Something was wrong, he could feel it.
Back in his car, he called Clara.
“Clara. I need you to do something for me.”
Her voice crackled through the speaker. “This better not be another favor involving kittens or late-night disappearances.”
“It’s about Roy,” Noah said softly. “I think something happened. I need his address.”
Clara hesitated. “Why do you need his address?”
“He isn't in his office”
A pause, then a sigh. “Fine. Sending it now.”
Moments later, a text lit up on his screen. Noah barely looked at it before hitting the gas.
Roy’s neighborhood was nothing like Noah’s polished, high rise world. The streets were narrow, lined with peeling apartment buildings and rusting balconies. A small crowd had gathered outside a pale gray building, voices loud, agitated.
Noah parked his car and got out, drawing curious glances. He followed the commotion to the entrance where he saw Roy.
Or what was left of Roy’s composure.
He stood on the sidewalk, expression unreadable, as a man, presumably the landlord tossed two cardboard boxes onto the pavement.
“You’re two months behind, Miller!” the landlord barked. “I gave you enough chances.”
Roy remained silent, shoulders stiff.
“Next time you want to cry about rent, maybe don’t live in my building,” the man sneered, turning back toward the door.
That was when Noah stepped forward.
“Excuse me.”
The landlord turned and paused, confused.
Noah took out his wallet and pulled out a thick wad of cash. “This covers what he owes?”
The landlord blinked. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who doesn’t like his friends being treated like trash.” Noah pushed the money into the man’s chest. Take this. And leave.”
The landlord grumbled something under his breath but snatched the cash and stomped off.
Roy watched it all, stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Noah said simply. “But I wanted to.”
They stood there in silence. The sun dipped lower behind the buildings. Roy’s boxes sat on the sidewalk, spilling notebooks and worn clothes onto the concrete.
“Come with me,” Noah said at last.
Roy blinked. “Where?”
“My place. You’re not sleeping on the street.”
“I don’t know "
“No excuses.” Noah turned, already walking. “Grab your things.”
The car ride was quiet, the hum of the city their only soundtrack. Roy kept stealing glances at him, but Noah said nothing. His jaw was tight, his thoughts unreadable.
When they arrived at the penthouse, Roy hesitated in the doorway.
“This is… huge,” he murmured.
Noah tossed his keys on the counter. “It’s just a place.”
“To you,” Roy muttered. He looked small here, out of place. Like someone who didn’t belong in this kind of luxury.
Noah poured them both a drink and handed Roy a glass. “Sit down.”
Roy obeyed, sinking into the expensive leather couch, clearly unsure if he should even breathe too loudly.
Then Noah sat beside him.
“I want to make you an offer.”
Roy frowned. “What kind of offer?”
“I want you to be my private therapist. Live here, work for me, no more clinics and no more landlords.”
Roy’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not how therapy works.”
“I don’t care,” Noah said. “You’re the only person who sees me." You’re the only one I can stand to talk to.”
Roy looked down at the drink in his hand. “That’s not healthy, Noah.”
“I’m not asking for healthy,” Noah said, his voice lowered now. “I’m asking for you.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Noah leaned in closer. “You need help. I can give it. You’re broke and homeless, but I have a solution.”
Roy stiffened. “And what do you want in return?”
Noah’s eyes darkened. “Tonight. One night. Give me that, and you’ll never have to worry again.”
The air turned electric.
Roy’s lips parted in shock. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Roy stood abruptly. “That’s not therapy. That’s..."
“Call it what you want,” Noah interrupted. “You want a way out? I’m giving it to you.”
Roy looked toward the door. His bag sat by it, his entire life packed in two worn boxes. He turned back to Noah, his heart pounding.
“You don’t need to do this,” he said softly. “You helped me already.”
Noah stepped closer. “I don’t do charity, Roy. I want something in return.”
“And if I say no?”
Noah’s expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll drive you back, you can sleep on the street.”
Roy stared at him. He couldn’t tell if this was manipulation or desperation or both.
He opened the door and walked out.
- Writer
